Submitted by Preeceville area farmer, Kaare Askildt.
The wettest spring and summer since 1952, or so an "old-timer" told me. He must have been very young at that time, but old enough to remember.
We didn't think we would get any water in the basement, because we thought we were on high ground. No such luck. We discovered that ground water can actually get enough pressure to "push" itself through a concrete basement floor. I discovered this when I went down into the basement to pick a roast out of the freezer. I hollered up to my wife that she should come and look at the mice body surfing! We measured five inches of water. All the walls are concrete, some dividing walls made out of an old style pressed panel showed the "watermark," but no damage.
Fortunately our freezers and basement fridge are sitting on pallets, so no damage there either. Only a couple of throw rugs got soaked.
We discovered this basement water on a weekend, and started trying to empty out the water. First we used scoops to get the water into five gallon pails, then carry the pail to the grey water basement drain, and pour it down. This procedure was very tiring and hard on the back.
Aha, I remembered the 1 hp sump pump that we had stored in the shed, I brought it in and plugged in the electrical cord, set it in the middle of the floor and ran the discharge hose into the grey water drain. The switch is a floater, so we had to tie that to the top of the pump to get it to run.
However the water was too shallow for the pump to get any good suction, so I tried "feeding" it the water by using a wide snow shovel and sort of push the water to the pump. We got most of the water out, only to find the next morning that the water had come back up to five inches again.
This was a Monday morning, so we head to the Gateway Co-Op and pick up a eight gallon wet vacuum. It's my wife's day off, so she is outside doing the chores and treating her horses. I go to work with the wet vac, suck up the water, unsnap the top to lift out the motor, carry the bottom container full of water to the drain, and pour the water down.
All the water is in the oldest part of the basement, there is about a six inch rise to the newer part of the basement, and at the south end of that in the utility room is the grey water drain. So my routine became like this: "Carry water, stumble, UFFDA (Norwegian mild cuss), kick and pour."
Then my wife came in and took over. Suck the water into wet vac, unsnap the top and lift out the motor, drop in the sump pump and pump the water out. She explained her procedure with: "Women have to be innovative, 'cause they don't have the muscle!" I think she was trying to tell me that women are smarter than men, but it went right over my head.
Part 5
We had the RM's coyote hunter setting some traps along our creek this last spring, after we lost three laying hens. Three coyotes came right into the yard, I watched through our kitchen window. We were free ranging our old laying hens, and each coyote picked a hen, and took off! However, the rain kept coming and the creek kept rising, so no coyotes were trapped on our property. In the meantime the hunter bagged 3 coyotes on our neighbour's property. We figured that those were the bandits that came into our yard.
We are raising some birds for our own consumption, and among them we have four Danish white geese. One of our neighbours Craig Sandager came over with some treats for our pigs and birds. He brought his children with him including his youngest son Luke. I was out checking fences at the time, so I did not observe what happened, but apparently Luke tried to catch one of the geese without success.
However, the end result was that the geese got chased into the creek, which is where I found them upon my return to the yard. Knowing that the creek is also the old coyote trail, I figured we better get them out of there as quick as possible. My wife Marion and I discussed our game plan. I had my rubber boots on, so I would find a way down to the creek behind the geese, and Marion would be higher up the creek to guide the geese back to their pen.
As I started to make my way through the dense underbrush to the creek, Marion got called away by a couple of teenagers Taylor Ebel and Nathan Karcha that had been working with the horses. I figured she would be right back, so I continued on. The creek has steep banks, and half way down the bank I was out of eye sight. I had to make my way through an old rusty barbed wire fence, and while stepping through it I made enough noise that the geese moved up the creek.
But I wasn't paying attention to where I was stepping, and both my feet sank deep into the mud between the hummocks. The more I tried to get out, the further down in the mud I sank. I had sunk down to the top of my rubber boots, and I'm standing there with legs far apart trying to keep my balance. I'm out of reach of anything but tall grass to hang on to, so I cannot get any leverage either.
Nor could I get my feet out of the boots, it felt like a vise grip had grabbed around my ankles. So there I stood teetering, and with my 240 lbs. I was sinking deeper and deeper into the mud. It was like standing in quicksand. Is there something called "quickmud?" My wife had finished with the teenagers, and as she had totally forgotten about the geese and me, she was on her way to the house when she heard my cries for help.
Oops she said to herself, I forgot about the geese. She came over giggling like a little girl telling me how she forgot about the whole thing. "Good thing you hollered," she said.
"I would have gone into the house and wondered where you would be." She had a hard time trying to contain her laughter as she was pulling on my boots while I was trying to pull up my legs. I finally got free, and Marion got the geese back to the pen.
